


La Renarde (Eng. version)

by Alex_Crow



Series: Caribbean Series (James Norrington/Catherine Moreau Delannois) [1]
Category: Pirates of the Caribbean (Movies)
Genre: Developing Relationship, Drama & Romance, F/M, Pre-Canon, Secret Relationship, Spies & Secret Agents, Strong Female Characters, The Royal Navy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-25
Updated: 2020-07-27
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:48:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 20,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25495594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alex_Crow/pseuds/Alex_Crow
Summary: The New World's society is not as provincial as it seems at first glance.
Relationships: James Norrington/Original Female Character(s)
Series: Caribbean Series (James Norrington/Catherine Moreau Delannois) [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1847191
Comments: 4
Kudos: 10





	1. I

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [La Renarde](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25270048) by [Alex_Crow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alex_Crow/pseuds/Alex_Crow). 



> Well, yes, that's actually a translation of my own work, as I am trying to improve my skills. Since I'm not a native speaker, I'm sure that English readers will find a lot of silly mistakes here (especially marine ones), but I still hope that I haven't fail neither James and Catherine, nor myself as an author. As I have, maybe, a specific style which is sometimes difficult to translate according to English rules of writing. But I tried.
> 
> Shortly about the characters. Catherine's name is pronounced as 'Kat'reen' since she is French. I'll be deeply thankful if you keep it in mind while reading. Her husband's name is 'Anri' and their surname is pronounced as 'Delanwa'.
> 
> La renarde (fr.) — fox, vixen.
> 
> And also I have a couple of photoshop arts being posted here: https://ibb.co/album/iO9TRF  
> (Well, more than a couple, actually.)

Every movement was accompanied by the rustle of long skirts. Every turn and every bow of the girl in the heavy dress, who clasped the hand he has offered her with thin, nervously hot fingers. She tried too hard to impress anyone who might have looked at her accidentally or intentionally — especially her own father, who kept tracking her with a proud stare through the whole dance — and therefore she counted her steps intently.

‘There’s no need to frown like that, Miss Swann. No one will even notice if you make a mistake.’

A shy, embarrassed smile appeared on her freckled face. Her curled brown hair bounced on the shoulders as she turned, and she said in a thin, barely audible voice.

‘I think so… I know it's stupid, but I have a feeling... it's like they're all looking at me.’

‘And they are astonished by your dance skills.’

Her smile became even more confused and grateful. There were no partners of her age in the room, and Miss Swann was probably regretting that she had begged her indulging father to let her attend the party. The Governor's daughter had just entered that unpleasant for any person age, when she could no longer be called a child, but also could not be considered as an adult. Being stuck somewhere in between her father’s ‘dear little Lizzie’ and a grown-up woman named only ‘Miss Swann’, she felt awkward and out of place in that midst of so many coats and wigs, embroidered dresses with wide skirts, and glittering jewels. And she had grabbed James’ hand with both fear and joy the moment he'd appeared in her sight with a gallant bow.

The Governor intercepted his bewildered and beaming daughter even before the line of dancers broke up into separate pairs.

‘Thank you, Lieutenant. Elizabeth...’

‘I'd take a glass of water,’ Miss Swann said, knowing immediately from her father's tone that he was going to send her away. And then she walked resolutely, opening a small fan with a gesture that went much better with a sword and scabbard, in the direction she needed. The Governor sighed heavily, but did not try to stop her.

‘Well ... I think it’ll be good for her to get to know the local society. Although I’d prefer to see her in a company… more suitable for her age, as to say. Isn’t she too young?’

It would have been inappropriate to engage in conversation without a direct question — as well as to give advice before it was asked for, — but the Governor obviously wanted to hear that he had chosen the right tactics in his daughter’s raising.

‘Miss Swann is smart beyond her age, sir. She is more than able to form a correct impression of the people around here.’

‘And I dare hope that she will not be left unattended in my absence, if necessary,’ the Governor replied, glancing in the direction of his daughter and being the first one to notice a bright spot of yellow, surmounted with a wig curled in the latest fashion. And the spots of blue and pink that followed her steps. Mrs. Mason with her friends. Or, better to say, with her retinue.

‘Governor Swann! Oh!’ she exclaimed, fanning herself. ‘A wonderful evening, sir! Give my endless praise to the author of the decoration in the hall, be so kind. Now it seems that under the previous Governor this place was only its own shadow. Oh, James, you’re also here! Sweet, definitely sweet! Governor, allow me ... Ah, where are you, my dears?!’

‘Be merciful, Charlotte, please,’ a woman's voice came faintly from behind Mrs. Mason’s friends. ‘My husband has served long enough in the Navy to have a right to rest.’

‘Of course, of course,’ Mrs. Mason chirped and waved her fan discontentedly, forcing her retinue to make way. ‘Governor Swann, Lieutenant Norrington, may I introduce my longtime friend Henri Delannois. Henri, my dear, the Governor has only been with us for a couple of months, and I know that this is undoubtedly a wonderful evening, but I dare hope that he will find time for a trade conversation with you.’

If judging by the emotion that flickered in Governor Swann’s eyes — only for a moment, before any of the ladies noticed it, — he decided that it would be easier to agree and not to force Mrs. Mason to detail the undoubted necessity of this conversation with her ‘old friend’. Or she would talk until the morning.

Henri Delannois, a gaunt, silver-haired man in his early fifties who leaned heavily on a walking stick because of his lame, severely injured leg, must have thought the same. He apologized stiffly to the ladies, kissed the hand of his wife, who was supporting him by the elbow, and followed the Governor.

‘What a hot winter,’ Mrs. Mason continued the conversation, fanning herself. ‘The sun’s already set, but this devilish heat is still unbearable. But don't you worry, James, the weather will be much nicer in a couple of weeks, I am sure, and…’

‘Charlotte, dear,’ said Monsieur Delannois' wife, who was holding her fan tightly folded, with a thin, almost insidious smile. ‘You didn't introduce me to the young man.’

A hint of displeasure flickered in Mrs. Mason's dark eyes, but a moment later she lifted the corners of her mouth in a responding smile.

‘Oh, forgive my absentmindedness, my dear. Lieutenant James Norrington. Arrived at Port Royal with our dear Governor. Lieutenant, this is my close friend Catherine.’

Catherine Delannois could’ve been her husband’s daughter. A very young daughter, who did not look older than early-twenties even in an austere, perhaps too dark _robe à la française_ and with large-rubied jewelries on her long swan-like neck and thin fingers. She did not wear a wig, but curled her long brown hair in a French fashion, and she looked right in the eye without hiding her light green eyes behind long dark lashes.

‘Pleased to meet you, Madame.’

‘So am I, Lieutenant.’

She spoke clearly — too clearly, perhaps, with a careful pronunciation of every word which made it immediately obvious English was not her native language. And she softly trilled the sound ‘r’ as all the French did.

‘And what a charming daughter our Governor has,’ Mrs. Mason went on, her eyes snapping at James, and her retinue in blue and pink dresses nodded and agreed with every word she’d say. ‘Catherine, dear, you need to be introduced to her, I insist. Such a reasonable child! And how wonderful she dances, have you seen?! I must admit that any woman would have soared like a bird with such a partner, but I can't help but envy Miss Swann's natural grace.’

Madame Delannois’ lips parted in another thin smile. She was definetely chuckling to herself over Mrs. Mason's grandiloquence. Or, maybe, it was Mrs. Mason’s obvious hint that made Madame smile. Even more obvious than this almost indecent habit to call him 'James'. Although he hadn't given her any reasons.

‘Yes, Charlotte, I was lucky enough to see Miss Swann among the dancers,’ Madame answered in the faintly sarcastic tone. But now she was laughing at herself. ‘Ten years ago I would’ve given my entire dowry to have had the same brilliant dance teacher who's apparently taught her. And my husband wouldn't have to blush for me during the first few months after our wedding. I am a fast learner but some things should’ve been learned long before I’ve had a chance to show my skills.’

‘Oh, that's right, Miss Swann was taught by the best dancing master at the Royal court. Although I must admit, if my daughter were so young, I wouldn't allow her to dance with… with _men_ ,’ one of Mrs. Mason's friends chirped, but Mrs. Mason was already pursing her lips in displeasure as Madame Delannois spoke again.

‘Tell me, Lieutenant, London is still shrouded in fog, isn’t it? I visited it ten years ago, but I have to admit that its weather didn't leave the best impression. Bad luck, I suppose.’

‘If being compared to Jamaica, Madame,’ James agreed, and her eyes twinkled with a hint of joy. ‘I suppose it's at least twice as hot in London these days.’

‘Brace yourself, Lieutenant,’ Madame Delannois laughed softly. ‘It's quite cold in Jamaica these days. And the heat at the sea... My heart is filled with compassion for those unfortunate people who have to scrub the deck under this sun. I hope your Сaptain doesn't intend to leave port any time soon.’

‘He does, Madame.’

‘Oh, and where will you be going?’ she seemed to be seriously interested, and the sparkle in her green eyes became extremely curious.

‘I’m afraid I can't answer that, Madame.’

‘Ah,’ she said, smiling again. ‘Another mystery of the Royal Navy. I understand, Lieutenant. The oath of allegiance is not the one a wise man would play with. But at least tell us, in general outline, about your service. My husband doesn’t indulge me with stories, as he doesn’t like to remember how he almost lost his leg in a sea battle. Those _pirates_ …’ she almost hissed, eyes narrowing, fingers clutching her fan.

Mrs. Mason's eyes flickered as if she were choosing a target for the guns.

‘Service is very... fascinating, Madame. My sincere regret for your husband’s wound. But we are here precisely to put an end to pirates’ looting.’

‘Ah!’ one of Mrs. Mason's friends said , fanning herself incessantly. ‘Piracy is so frightening!’

‘Mary, dear, this is boring,’ Mrs. Mason said in a dull voice. ‘Frankly speaking, Catherine, dear, sometimes I don't understand your choice of themes for a conversation. Please, don't take my words to heart. But I really don't understand why Henri is letting you go on such long voyages.’

‘What can I do, Charlotte, if Henri's health does not allow him to sail the sea all the time?’ Madame Delannois replied without a slightest hint of displeasure in her voice. ‘But he doesn't have sons, and he can't trust anyone else with his business. That would be too myopic. No matter how much you pay, sooner or later your hired hands are still visited by the idea of concealing profits. Ah, you have finished, Monsieur,’ she smiled, turning her head, as she was the second to notice the return of her husband and the Governor. James was the first one but didn’t take it as achievement. ‘Were the negotiations successful?’

‘More than that, Madame,’ Monsieur Delannois agreed, and Governor Swann immediately added.

‘I hope you are not in a hurry to leave us, Monsieur. I would like to continue our acquaintance. There will be dancing for the young ones again, and we could pass the time with a couple of glasses of wine.’

And probably with a gambling game. Which, of course, was not said out loud.

‘I will be glad, sir,’ had once again agreed Monsieur Delannois and turned slowly, clenching his walking stick till his knuckles became white. ‘Lieutenant, may I ask you to ask my wife to dance? I'm not the best dancer nowadays, and I know she'd rather spend time with the people of her own age than with a decrepit old man.

'That will be an honor for me,’ James said and looked at Madame Delannois, immediately noticing her pleased smile. ‘If the lady doesn't mind.’

‘Henri!’ Madame laughed, answering almost at the same time. ‘You're not old, and you're certainly not decrepit. But I'd love to dance, if Lieutenant isn't afraid to get the clumsiest woman in the Caribbean as a partner.’

And she accepted James’ hand. They both waited until frowning Mrs. Mason was left far behind, and then Madame lifted the corners of her lips in another thin smile.

‘I hope you don't trust gossips too much, Lieutenant,’ she said in a cheerful whisper as she took the first step of the dance. The words about her clumsiness were probably nothing more than ordinary feminine coquetry. ‘Tomorrow you will hear a lot of unflattering remarks about me from our dear Charlotte.’

‘I don't see any reason,’ James disagreed, ‘why Mrs. Mason would tell tales about her close friend.’

‘Oh, don't be so gallant,’ Madame said as her lips parted in a bright smile. Almost indecent one as she was another man’s wife. ‘You must have made a furor in this little provincial swamp. Still, the New World is in many ways less resplendent than the Old one, and the women... are always avid of the officers’ company. Especially when these officers are so courteous.’

‘You think so?’

The sparkle in her green eyes became extremely serious. She was no longer joking or coquetting.

‘I saw you with the Governor's daughter, Lieutenant. A gallant act. She is still too young for men to take an interest in her, and she risked being a wallflower all the evening. And I’m not even mentioning that she shouldn’t even be here at such a young age.’

‘It wouldn't be nice to make her bored. And I suppose she wanted to make a good impression.’

‘I can assure that the impression was more than good, ' Madame replied, bowing her head for a second. ‘I'm not an expert in the customs of your country, and I haven't been to Paris for several years, but I think Miss Swann has behaved perfectly. And it's always hard for a loving father to reject his only daughter’s requests, isn't it?’

It would be a shame not to admit that Catherine Delannois was an astute woman.

‘Though the ladies of Port Royal will not forgive her for that dance,’ she added with a chuckle. ‘You've condemned the poor girl to the infinite women’s envy.’

‘I had no intention, Madame. But I am always ready to stand up for Miss Swann.’

Madame gave him an attentive look and turned gracefully, confirming once again that her words about clumsiness were nothing more than coquetry.

‘You're just like my husband, if I dare say. I truly adore courage and gallantry in men. That's why I married him.’

‘I had no intention to assault your or your husband’s honor, Madame,’ James answered, being, perhaps, too rush, and her lips parted once again in an almost beaming smile.

‘I know. But many of my acquaintances can't resist asking questions. My husband... is a huckster, I won't lie, and I'm too young for him. But I am quite happy with this marriage. I guess we can be called good friends. May I offer you an advice, Lieutenant?’ Madame asked, making a curtsy as the music subsided. ‘Not just for you, but for the Governor and his daughter as well. I know that many of those who come from the Old World find the society here very provincial. And this judgment is probably not far from the truth. But there are plenty of reefs hiding in the abyss of the Caribbean Sea, and if you, like the others, have found us simple-minded, then you should change your mind. And be on your guard. You never know which of these rocks is hiding a venomous snake under it. Pirates are not the only danger in these waters.’

‘Thank you, Madame,’ James replied, pressing a courteous kiss on her thin fingers. Her wrist smelled subtly of bergamot. ‘I'll take that into consideration.’

Madame’s green eyes twinkled mischievously in the candlelight.

“Brave as a dashing knight, aren’t you? Then ask Miss Swann for a dance again, as she's getting bored, I suppose. Sure, she's deeply offended that you’ve chosen the company of a twenty-year-old hag over her.’

‘If you allow me, Madame, I'd like to —’ James began, but she gave him a slight shake of her head.

‘Thank you, but I must go back to my husband. We’ll sail to Martinique in three days, and he still has so much to do. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Lieutenant,’ Madame replied, freeing her hand and disappearing within the crowd in a flash.

Monsieur Delannois was found in the company of the Governor of Jamaica, enjoying the wine and fresh fruits. Just as she’d expected.

‘Catherine, my dear! Did you get bored with dancing so quickly?’

‘Not at all, Henri. I find the company here very pleasant, but I hope you will excuse us, Governor.’

‘Of course, Madame,’ he agreed. ‘But I’m expecting you and your husband to have a dinner with me tomorrow night.’

‘It’s an honor for us, sir,’ Catherine said with a polite, almost invisible smile and gave her husband a hand to help him stand up. Henri kept silent until he reached the entrance door, breathed in the warm night wind that blew from the sea, and only then stated.

‘I suppose the company was even too pleasant.’

‘He's very handsome,’ Catherine almost whispered, unable to hide a not at all sly smile. 'For an English one. And it’s quite a surprise to find a man of pleasant manners amongst them.’

She heard a heavy sigh in response.

‘You think I'm a jealous fool, don't you?’

"Oh, my dear Henri,’ Catherine laughed softly, listening to the click of her heels and the thump of his walking stick on the pavement. ‘You'd be a fool if you still thought you were in your twenties. And I've always liked your common sense,’ she smiled tenderly and clasped his dry, wrinkled hand.


	2. II

Ringing laughter of many voices was spreading across the lawn. The ladies were playing bowls — not following the rules very much and just rolling bowls on the grass rather than trying to hit the target — but they applauded every shot they thought was a good one, gently tapping their palms with folded fans.

‘Brilliant, Miss Swann, absolutely brilliant!’

His daughter basked in glory and curtsied proudly at every compliment she received. The impression was marred only by the wind that blew from the sea and tried to tear off her hat, and Elizabeth had to grab it with her hand at every new gust. The wind ruffled ladies’ curled hair and wigs under their hats, made waves on the green grass, and rustled the yellow pages of a book in the thin fingers of a woman sitting in the canopy shadow.

‘More tea, dear?’ Monsieur Delannois was asking over and over again, but his wife was just shooking her head, being fully immersed in her reading. Madame had touched the cup carefully placed on the table only a couple of times and had drunk barely a third of it. She did not want to join the laughing ladies, nor did she show any interest in the conversation of the men in the shadow. She only read and kept completely silent.

‘Piracy is the scourge of these waters,’ Monsieur Delannois said with fervor, forcibly clenching his fingers on the handle of his walking stick. ‘I've sailed them for more than twenty years, and I've seen almost every island. With those palm trees and that sand, golden in the sun, and those rolling turquoise-green waves...’

A younger man's face would have turned dreamy at these words. However, the Governor wouldn't deny that his imagination also painted a very fascinating picture.

‘And there is only one thing that spoils this beauty,’ Monsieur Delannois said . ‘The ongoing robbery. Tortuga is only a small island off the coast of Hispaniola, but it poisons the entire Caribbean Sea. You might think, sir, that pirates can smell ships like animals, but no, it's much simpler. These scoundrels have their own people everywhere, dozens and even hundreds of ears, ready to do anything for a couple of gold coins. Every port has a homeless man watching the shipment and chatting with the sailors. And you can't keep them quiet, no matter how hard you try, they’ll tell everyone that they shipped so heavy bags or boxes yesterday, and tomorrow they will go with all this stuff to Jamaica or to the coast of Louisiana. And with a fair wind, this is very quickly learned on Tortuga. Or the ship will run into one of those scoundrels who have already gone out to sea in search of easy money. I do not know how many ships escaped the trap that had been set on them, nor do I know how many vessels sank in storms, but I know that no storm will destroy as many ships as we have lost in two last decades. I myself have been making terrible losses in recent years, despite the best efforts of my dear wife.

Madame Delannois turned the page without paying any attention to these words. At first, her presence was disconcerting — women of the Governor's acquaintance didn’t show the habit of joining the conversations about trade and economy, — but Madame wasn’t saying a word and wasn’t even looking up from her book, silently suggesting to see her as just another shadow falling on the chair.

‘But why did you decide to trade, Monsieur? After what I've heard is a brilliant career in the French Royal Navy...’

‘Ah,’ Henri Delannois waved his hand almost indifferently. ‘There is nothing brilliant about scrubbing the deck day after day, or loading the guns, or unsheathing the sword. Shot after shot, boarding after boarding, one pirate strung up on the yardarm after another.' He lowered his voice and smiled. ‘I know these waters well, and I've needed gold to provide my wife with a comfortable life. Unfortunately, it turns out that it's her who provides me.’

‘We both take care of our family, Monsieur,’ his wife interjected briefly and almost inaudibly, turning another page. ‘To the best of our abilities.’

‘And yet you, Madame, do incomparably more,’ Monsieur Delannois hastened to disagree and reached out to grasp her fingers. It seemed to the Governor that there was more than only gratitude in this gesture: Monsieur was not blind, and he must have been the first one to notice the appearance of another man on the lawn.

‘Good morning, Lieutenant.’

‘Governor,’ Lieutenant Norrington said, nodding briefy. ‘Monsieur. Madame. I'm sorry to interrupt.’

‘Not at all, Lieutenant. We were just talking about piracy.’

‘Don't pay attention to me, Lieutenant,’ said Madame Delannois, looking up from her book, and her lips formed a thin smile that was not suitable for a young woman. ‘I don't understand even a word of my husband's conversations with the Governor. As you know —’ she flipped through several pages as if searching for a quotation, ‘women are not compatible with wisdom.’

Lieutenant Norrington glanced at the cover of her book and suddenly retorted:

‘I remember this phrase sounded different. Although I have to admit that I find some of Monsieur de Montfaucon's reasoning a little too much... mystical to be considered any instructive.’

‘Oh,’ Madame said, raising her dark brows. ‘Have you read it?’

‘Are you surprised?’ the Lieutenant asked with an unreadable expression on his already sun-touched face.

She paused before replying, seemingly oblivious to her husband's frown.

‘Perhaps. I'm too used to merchants who are only concerned with calculating their earnings. It's nice to be back into civilized society for a while.’

‘I hope this society haven't disappointed you, Madame.’

"Did they send you from Fort Charles, Lieutenant?’ the Governor intervened quite swiftly. As a young man shouldn’t be allowed to have such conversations with young married woman. For the sake of both.

The Lieutenant turned his head, and his eyes dimed in the shadow of his hat.

‘Yes, Governor. The Сaptain of _The Dauntless_ has a couple of more suggestions for the local fortification, and he dares hope that you will find them as useful as his previous ideas. If you wish, I will voice them.’

‘Well,’ the Governor decided after a moment's thought, ‘I think I can give it a couple of hours after the lunch.’

‘As you wish,’ the Lieutenant replied, and gave a short bow that was more like a brief nod. ‘My apologies for distraction.’

Madame Delannois turned with a rustle of long skirts, as he went away, held her eyes at his back and closed the book with a soft clap.

‘I'm sorry, Governor,’ she said, getting on her feet. ‘Monsieur, I hope you will dine with me before I set sail. No —’ she added with a smile, as her husband's hand tightened on the handle of his stick again. ‘Don't get up. No doubt you still have something to discuss with the Governor, and our place’s not far from here.’

Although she would have preferred the way to be several times longer.

‘Lieutenant?’

The man turned without the slightest surprise on his face, with his wavy tail of dark hair slipping from his broad shoulder, and replied with the perfect deference.

‘Madame.’

‘I ran away,' Catherine said when she finally caught up with him. ‘I can't bear hearing this endless, empty talk of piratical debauchery. Do you mind if I walk with you?’

‘As you wish,’ the Lieutenant agreed and asked her a question with an obvious catch. ‘Do you consider conversations about piracy as pointless?’

‘Conversations — yes,’ Catherine said. ‘No doubt I do. I had the unpleasant opportunity of meeting the pirates. Words have no power against guns and cutlasses, as you know. I'm afraid your Governor will have some hard times if he prefers conversations to battles.’

‘The Governor is a non-military man,’ the Lieutenant remarked. Catherine allowed herself a smile as she noticed that he was deliberately slowing his stride. ‘We’ve encountered the consequences of a pirate raid during our way to Port Royal, but I'm afraid the Governor hasn’t been impressed.’

‘Well, I hope your Сaptain’s taken it much more seriously,’ Catherine replied. ‘I suppose the people of Port Royal can feel safe if he is so interested in protecting the harbor. Or,’ she asked, noticing the faintest hint of a smile on his thin lips, ‘is this not the Сaptain's idea?’

‘No,’ the Lieutenant agreed. ‘But he’s found my suggestions reasonable.’

‘What have you suggested?’

Judging him by his responding look, he was never fooled by her smile and humbly lowered eyelashes.

‘This island needs a strong hand, Lieutenant,’ Catherine continued, giving him no time to fully focus on her question. ‘Otherwise, it will turn into a second Tortuga in a couple of years. After Henry Morgan had been appointed as the so-to-be Governor of Jamaica, many pirates decided that it would be safer to anchor under the very noses of the English. There are many dens in the slums of the town, where pirates are welcomed almost openly.’

‘They won't be soon,’ the Lieutenant replied calmly, and Catherine allowed herself a chuckle.

‘You are very self-confident, aren’t you?’

‘Probably, Madame. But I dare hope that my deeds will not differ from my words.’

‘Pity that I probably won't see it,’ Catherine said, lowering the corners of her mouth. ‘But perhaps you'l tell me a few stories when I come back for my husband. And if we’ll be lucky enough to meet again.’

For a few moments there was silence between them, broken only by a faint breeze.

‘I thought you've said…’

‘The plans’ve changed. I have to leave at the first low tide, but my husband will not be able to accompany me. Not this time. Thank you, Lieutenant,’ Catherine added, turning towards the town square. ‘For your company’.

He did not impose. He just nodded — with the shadow of his hat dimming his silver-green eyes again, — and said. ‘Fair winds and following seas, Madame.’

‘Thank you,’ Catherine repeated and walked down the street without looking back.

It was expected that if this meeting was not the last, the next would happen under equally appropriate circumstances. But Catherine Delannois appeared at the very moment James Norrington had expected it the least.


	3. III

The ship was approaching the island of Saint Martin from the North-West side, having sailed it round in a wide arc and intending to anchor in the Bay of Marigot. The southern half of the island belonged to the Dutch colony, but after constant naval skirmishes between England and Holland, that lasted for more than twenty years, the Сaptain of _The Dauntless_ considered it unwise to moor an English warship at a Dutch pier. As if it wasn’t already a questionable motion to moor anywhere except the English colonies.

The wind fanned the sails, carryied the voices far ahead and fluttered the white flags of New France barely visible above the winding coastline. The Сaptain stared at them for a long time through his telescope, lost in a reverie known only to himself, and then ordered.

‘Lieutenant Norrington is in command.’

‘Heave to and take in sails!’

The sailors got busy on the masts, removing and securing the topgallants. Yards of heavy, grayish sailcloth were slowly rising and curling up at the yards.

‘Yo! Ho! Ho!’

‘Tack windward!’

 _The Dauntless_ was turning slowly, setting a course to windward and coming to a standstill on her topsails and mizzen-topsail. Waves of white foam were coming from the stem and splashing far over the drops of water, that sparkled in the sun like jewels. Heavy rubies on the thin line of a woman’s collarbone. It was a strange thought, as the water was weightless and almost transparent, and those jewels seemed to be filled with blood and to leave the same dark bruises on her skin.

A strange and highly inappropriate thought. As _she_ was another’s man wife.

‘Drop the anchor!’

It hit the waves on the windward side, sending up more splash of bitter-salty water.

‘Lower the boats!’

The oars rose and fell in a precise rhythm sharpened by the years of sea voyages, and with each pull, with each splash that occurred when the salt-eaten wood collided with the water, the outline of the city became clearer. The crowd at the wharves was breaking up into separate figures, and the individual shouts were distinguishing in the cacophony of voices, and the separate lines slowly appeared on the white and blue flags.

The Сaptain chose to remain on board of _The Dauntless_ , sparing himself from negotiating with the harbor authority, checking the water and provisions and watching their shipping into the boats under the merciless sun. In the last few days, the Сaptain had been careful not to leave the cabin at all, complaining about the endless and abnormal for any Englishman summer and giving his subordinates a delightful opportunity not only to suffer from sun and heat, but also to manage their regular doings as if they did not have a captain at all.

‘Move, you scatterbrains!’ the bosun, who had come ashore, was cheering and occasionally glancing at James’ face half-hidden by the shadow of his hat. ‘You wait a bit, Lieutenant, these sea rats need to get used to a solid ground.’

His tone was both respectful and slightly irritated at the same time. The bosun was a Jamaican by birth, thus not afraid of the heat, and rightly considered himself a seasoned sea wolf, who had sailed the seas from the age of twelve to his gray hair. Therefore the too young Lieutenant, being in his only mid-twenties — twenty-six, to be more precise, — aroused in the bosun a hint of envy. The bosun was not even hoping to be the captain of his own ship, but that didn't stop him from _dreaming_ to be, and, no doubt, he had a slight disdain for ‘foreign dandies’. The Lieutenant, however, did not faint in the heat of the sun, and the bosun already did pay him the first glimpse of respect.

It was boring to walk aimlessly along the dock, watching the shipping out of the corner of his eye, and the abundance of shouting in French soon began to ring in his ears. People argued, resented, and — as far as James’ knowledge of the language allowed him to judge — wished each other all the best, from the common nethermost fire to the purely marine Davy Jones’ locker. The sun was getting hotter and hotter.

‘Move!’ the boatswain shouted with the self-forgetful inspiration, pushing his hat back on his head. The sailors were grumbling, displeased at being forced to bend their backs in the heat, and there were more and more people getting on the wharf. There were so many of them now that James didn't recognize the woman in the wide-brimmed hat who was making her way through the crowd until she suddenly appeared right in front of him. He had noticed from a distance that long-plumed hat and the ringlets of brown hair that fell on woman’s shoulders in the light-colored long coat. But he did not find interesting that the woman's clothing was of a man's fashion which did not conceal the outline of her figure at all. There might’ve been many adventuresses who preferred a coat and heavy boots to a dress in these waters.

The woman was walking with her head bowed and her hat pulled down over her eyes, and she would probably have slipped past without being recognized, if not for the sailor who lingered with another keg.

‘Oh, look, what a...!’ he whistled, appreciating all of the woman’s body that was usually hidden under a wide skirt, and received an irritated reply from James.

‘Do your work, sailor.’

And the woman, who paid no attention at all to the sailor’s assault, suddenly shuddered and jerked her head up. Her eyes sparkled with clear green color under the wide-brimmed hat.

‘Lieutenant?’

He stammered from an astonishment.

‘M-Madame?’

Catherine Delannois raised her hand to straighten her hat half-hiding her face and came almost up to him in three steps, not disconcerted by the sailors ' looks at all. But the next moment she was already fidgeting with the wide strap of a bulky leather bag slung over her shoulder.

‘W-what a pleasant surprise to meet you here.’

She stammered, too, but the surprise had nothing to do with it, as her trembling hands and bloodless lips betrayed a different kind of agitation. Fear, to say the least.

‘Madame?’ James repeated, and she spoke quickly and confusedly.

‘Lieutenant, I'm begging for your help. When do you leave this port?’

‘As soon as we finish with our shipment,’ James said, already suspecting what her request might be.

‘I am in a need of getting away from this island,’ Madame confirmed his suggestion. ‘It doesn't matter where, and I swear I'll get off at the first port you’ll make, but I need to disappear immediately. Can you take me to your ship?’

‘I...’ James said slowly, trying to gain at least a few more moments to think. ‘I do not have any liberties to make such decisions, Madame.’

Her already pale lips became almost white.

‘Please,’ Madame Delannois whispered fervently, and without any hesitation she grasped his hand with her fingers. He almost shivered as her hand was icy in spite of the heat. ‘At least let me speak to your Сaptain!’

And the captain would probably reply that a woman doesn't belong on a deck of a warship.

‘If it's a question of money, I'll pay whatever he wants —’

‘Madame,’ James interrupted, and her bloodless lips twitched in the faintest hint of a smile he's ever seen. ‘No officer in the Royal Navy would take advantage of a lady in distress.’

‘I'm not in distress, Lieutenant,’ Madame said slowly, her smile becoming more visible. ‘Not yet. And I dare hope that you might help me to avoid this distress at all.’

A disarming smile. And those cold, trembling fingers that clenched his hand tightly. Like any self-respecting woman, Catherine Delannois knew it perfectly how to play on a man's weaknesses.

‘I... can talk to the Сaptain, Madame, and return if…’

This respond obviously did not answer her purpose. Madame shrugged her shoulders, as if it was a gust of wind that made her shiver, and quickly looked around with an undisguised expression of anxiety on her pale face. What could have happened to the wife of an ordinary merchant, as she said, if she now behaved like she was afraid of every shadow?

‘Move, you sea scoundrels!’ the bosun was shouting behind him.

 _I beg you_ , the green eyes pleaded silently under her hat. _Help me, please._

***

The Сaptain, who was sitting at the table in his cabin, received the news with a quite expected expression of skepticism.

‘Lieutenant, I must remind you that this is a warship, and your lady is not even English.’

‘This lady is married to a respectable man, and therefore cannot possibly be mine,’ James replied coldly. ‘And therefore I would ask you, sir, not to draw conclusions that would cast a shadow on her honor.’

The lady, fortunately, said nothing, but when James dared glance at her face, he immediately noticed the corners of her lips slightly trembling with laughter.

‘Youth!’ the Сaptain snorted, clearly meaning something else.

_Foolishness._

‘Captain,’ said Madame Delannois in a tone that had nothing in common with her previous frightened voice. But the unnatural straightness of her back still betrayed traces of her anxiety. ‘I understand your concerns, but as I told Lieutenant Norrington…’

‘Yes, yes,’ the Сaptain said impolitely. ‘You will get off at the first port we make. But what should I do with you before that moment?’

These were too ambiguous and rude words to say in front of a woman, but Madame was the first one to react.

‘I don't intend to inconvenience you or your crew, Сaptain. And I'm ready to pay…’

‘Lieutenant!’ the Сaptain said dryly, raising his voice in discontent. 'Since you are the one who’ve invited Madame Delannois on our board, the responsibility for her safety will also be yours.’

Madame seemed to be trying not to smile again. She remained discreetly silent, as a modest married woman should, while the Сaptain gave instructions about the cabin and asked, without a trace of deference, how many chests of clothes Madame was intending to put into the hold. In response, she immediately dumbfounded him by saying that all her belongings were limited to a change of underwear — stating this without even a slightest hesitation — and a couple of minor trinkets. In other words, she had no other luggage than a bulky leather bag.

‘I'm sorry,’ James said softly, after the Сaptain, still grumbling, demanded to be left alone with his thoughts. And finally weigh the anchor.

Madame raised her head to the warm salty wind and smiled almost shyly.

‘Don't worry, Lieutenant. Your Сaptain is one of those men who at the first meeting consider any woman to be a small-minded fool. And at the second they already begin to twirl their moustaches dashingly. I can cope with it.’

‘I can assure you that no one on this ship will even dare…’

Madame raised her hand and touched his forearm, placing her fingers carefully on the cuff of his sleeve.

‘Thank you, Lieutenant.’

Another gust of wind fanned the white feather on her hat.

‘May I ask, Madame...?’

Which he definitely shouldn't have done, but for a split second his curiosity overbore his sense of decency.

‘About what, Lieutenant?’

‘How did you notice me? You didn't... well, look around at all.’

She was silent for a few moments, studying his face with perhaps too much interest before smiling again.

‘Your voice, Lieutenant. You have one of those voices that make a woman completely indifferent to what you say. As she's willing to sell her soul to the sea devil if it only makes you keep talking. That's why I remembered it. I beg your pardon,’ Madame added, removing her hand from his wrist. ‘I must be distracting you from your duties.’

‘Yes, probably,’ James answered confusedly, having no idea what to do with such frankness.

But he still had to admit — at least, in his thoughts, — that it must’ve been the most unexpected and disconcerting response of his life.


	4. IV

The heavy bronze disk of the mariner’s astrolabe seemed to be even more massive next to a thin woman's hand that absently rotated the alidade. Back and forth, again and again, watching as one or the other of its sharp points aimed at the ninety-degree mark carved on the edge of the disk just below the hanging ring. The light of the setting sun was pouring through the windows of the officers' wardroom and flickering reddish-green in her ring with a transparent semiprecious stone.

Madame looked so lost in thought that she paid no attention to the creaking of the door as it opened. And she looked up only at the sound of his boots knocking on the wood flooring. 

‘What a curious thing,’ Madame smiled, resting her head on her left hand and turning the alidade once more. ‘I've never truly understood how it works.’ There was a dreamy note in her voice, but there were also mischievous sparks hiding in the depths of her pupils. ‘How do you comprehend all this, Lieutenant?’

‘I can show you, Madame, if you wish,’ James replied, and she raised the corner of her mouth in an almost sarcastic smile.

‘I have no intentions to distract you from your duties. It seems to me that you are already wasting too much time on a passenger who shouldn't even be on this ship.’

‘I wouldn't call your company distracting, Madame. Few officers on board can hold a conversation on... themes that I find interesting to discuss.’

Except, of course, the fact that his current interlocutress resembled a china statuette, looking even more fragile in a light long coat with wide cuffs, did not having the habit of pulling her long hair into a more appropriate for her status hairstyle, and having a charming smile that put half of the crew in a complete stupor. It was foolish to deny that Madame Delannois was a beautiful woman. But what was worse, she had a manner of saying things that were completely unladylike. So the Captain kept repeating at every opportunity that if he hadn't been a gentleman, he would have landed the lady on the first piece of land he saw. No one dared tell Madame about those threats, but she must have guessed it and laughed inwardly at the captain, not forgetting to flirt with the sailors, who immediately rushed to explain her how to heave the sails or weigh the anchor.

‘Sometimes sailing becomes unbearably dreary, doesn’t it?’ she smiled, running her fingers through her hair, which was barely pinned at the nape of her neck and fell loosely over her shoulders. ‘To those who stand on the wharf, the sea seems exciting, but in reality... not everyone can stand a ship's routine. It took me quite a long time to get used to it. At first, I felt like I was wasting dozens and hundreds of precious hours of my life. And you, Lieutenant? Did you have this feeling?’

‘It's hard for me to judge, Madame,’ James replied, walking to the window in the long aft wall and folding his hands behind his back. The red sun was already touching the horizon, blinding his eyes with its last bright rays. ‘I don't even remember the first time I set foot on a ship's deck. My father is an Admiral in the Royal Navy.’

‘And did he take you on board as a child?’ Madame seemed to be interested in this conversation. She rose from the table, walking like an skilled swordsman, lightly and barely audibly. ‘I judge like a woman, but if I had children, I wouldn't dare expose them to such a… risk. The sea is dangerous even for experienced sailors.’

‘You're right,’ James agreed, studying the play of light on the foaming wake behind _The Dauntless_.

‘I dare say you had to find this danger out sooner than you should have,’ Madame stopped near the next window, her hand resting on the wooden frame that separated them. He wasn't looking at her, but he could still see every movement out of the corner of his eye. ‘And I suppose that's why my dear friend Charlotte was so enthusiastic about your efforts to rid these waters of pirates.’

Now there was a hint of mockery in her voice.

‘I thought you were sharing this desire, Madame, rather than finding it amusing,’ James replied dispassionately, but she raised her left eyebrow slightly and smiled.

‘Oh, did you take it personally? Forgive me. Piracy, no doubt, should be punished by the gallows. And I find amusing not your eagerness, but Charlotte's excessive enthusiasm. Her infatuation with a man who obviously doesn't share such... interest.’

‘I had no intention of giving Mrs. Mason any reason to think that I was —’

‘Insulting her? Oh, I have no doubt that she _is_ insulted. And precisely because you, in turn, did not want to insult her honor. You are heartless, Lieutenant,’ Madame smiled again, with a hint of sarcasm in her voice.

‘Am I?’ James asked, turning to face her. It was hard not to smile at this disarming way of making fun of everything and everyone. Especially when it turned against him.

‘Don't be too hard on her,’ Madame replied, and the corners of her lips slightly trembled again. ‘Charlotte Mason is an unhappy woman. Her husband is madly in love with her, but she is completely indifferent to him. Yes, and forced to spend her leisure hours for embroidery and other nonsense. No wonder the poor thing wants adventure. If not fighting pirates, then at least hearing stories about them. And who’d better to tell her those stories than a young officer?’

‘I'm afraid, Mrs Mason doesn’t have even a slightest idea of how dangerous the battles with the pirates are,’ replied James in a dispassionate voice. It was unusual for women to realize how little romance there really was in gunfire and grappling irons, but some of them were not convinced by even the most candid stories. Mrs. Mason was one of those women, and only an unsightly picture of a naval battle could have dispelled her illusions. A boarding in all its glory with the stench of smoke and blood and the whoosh of buckshot in the air.

‘And you, Lieutenant?’ Madame asked again. ‘I have… a feeling that your dislike of these creatures is not only dictated by a sense of duty.’

‘I wouldn’t disagree, Madame. I was only six when I first met the pirates, and I must admit that I found their company extremely... unpleasant.’

Madame Delannoy leaned her shoulder against the window frame and asked.

‘Oh. What happened?’

Her delicate-featured face suddenly showed genuine concern.

‘It’s… hard to say, Madame. I only remember the gunfire and the water. Too... much water for one person.’

‘Water?’

‘Yes. I fell overboard. And I owed my rescue to ... _a pirate_.’

He spat out the last words with an anger that was completely out of place in a conversation with a woman, but Madame only raised her eyebrows in surprise.

‘Well, it seems that not all of them... are lost souls. Not everyone is willing to risk their life for a stranger. Even for a child.’

‘Even so, it allowed him to escape justice.’

‘Hmm,’ Madame murmured, inclining her head to one side. ‘Aren't you too hard on yourself, Lieutenant? Or on your father? It's hard to blame him for being grateful to this pirate.’

‘I don't think one good deed is enough to turn the scale on the right side when there are years of looting and robbery on the other side. And my father... wasn't grateful.’

He shouldn't have said that. At least because she suddenly took a step forward and became impossibly close.

‘What makes you think like that?’

The sun was sinking rapidly below the horizon, disappearing in the ruddy water like a coin thrown overboard. Madame was silent for a long moment, and then she turned her head and stared at the waves foaming astern.

‘I am in no need to divulge your secrets, Lieutenant. Not to anyone. But I am too curious by my nature. I'd be interested to know if you'd like to tell me.’

‘I'm afraid there's nothing to tell, Madame,' James replied briefly as something white on the horizon flashed for a moment in the glare of the sun. ‘I failed him. No wonder he'd rather see me dead than this pirate alive and still... pirating.’

Madame was silent again, and her face, lit by the reddish rays, assumed a thoughtful expression.

‘Sometimes anger and fear make us say things that we haven’t really meant, Lieutenant. Or misinterpret what we've heard from the others.’

‘Unfortunately, he was very clear,’ James said drily and turned to face her. Too close. Too... _vulnerable_ , though it was not the word that should have come to a Royal Navy Lieutenant's mind. ‘But I'm not complaining, Madame. Any officer knows he’d better not to make mistakes in the King's service.’

‘Men,’ Madame snorted, as if they were... they knew each other a lot better than they should. ‘The world will not fall into the abyss, Lieutenant, if you admit at least once your own rights to have ordinary human feelings. And you... Didn't you think that it wasn't your fault?’

He didn’t answer, raising his eyebrows in a gesture of incomprehension.

‘Lieutenant,’ Madame repeated, as if she was explaining some obvious things to a naïve child. However, it was true. ‘I think we both know the height of the gunwales on the upper deck. And I can imagine the height of a six-year-old. It appears to me that you fell overboard against your will.’

He paused again, considering these words, and finally answered. Slowly, and knowing that his face showed an expression not very suitable for an officer.

‘I must say… it never occurred to me, Madame.’

‘I have no doubt, Lieutenant,’ she said calmly. ‘You probably used to look at this gunwale from your present height in recent years and did not think that once it could have been higher than you. But this brings us back to the fact that facing the gallows is the least that pirates deserve. Most of them... are worse than animals. And what did you say your father's name was? I'm afraid I've forgotten.’

He didn't say, but she tactfully sidestepped this awkwardness by pretending to be forgetful.

‘Admiral Lawrence Norrington, Madame.’

‘And you are... the eldest son?’

‘The only one, Madame.’

‘So,’ she said slowly, twisting a curl of her dark hair around her finger. Then it’s ‘James Lawrence Norrington’, right? Or do you have a third name?’ she added, raising her eyebrow, and got a slightly confused glance in return. ‘Oh, I think we got this conversation off to the wrong start, Lieutenant. I'd like to get to know you better... as far as decency allows us. And before your Captain will put me in a boat in the middle of the open sea.’

The Captain, of course, wouldn't ever do so, but Madame's sense of humor was something… extremely bewitching. As well as her rare acumen. Sometimes it even seemed as if she could read his every emotion by the slightest change in his face expression. James did not know, whether this talent was natural or acquired through the years of dealing with merchants accustomed to extolling the virtues of their products and keeping silent about their shortcomings. But in another situation, he might have even found this acumen dangerous. And he paused before answering.

‘You are married, Madame.’

She was still too close.

‘And I'm not asking _you_ to marry me, Lieutenant,’ Madame replied, unwaveringly shrugging her shoulders. ‘And you didn't answer. Am I right?’

‘Yes. ‘

‘Then, it's your turn.’

He should’ve refused, but Madame Delannois was not the only one who was sometimes consumed by curiosity.

‘Marie?’ James suggested after a brief thought.

‘Too easy,’ Madame retorted, wrinkling her thin nose in a funny way.

‘Louise?’

‘Oh, no, every other woman in France is called Louise nowadays, but I was lucky to escape that fate.’

‘Colette?’

‘Almost right,’ Madame said approvingly, and crossed her arms over her chest. ‘Well, I won't torment you. Catherine Constance Nicolette Moreau. Delannois by marriage.’

‘Pleased to meet you, Madame,’ James said primly, looking back at the sea beyond the ship's stern, and she trilled with a laughter.

‘I like your sense of humor. What other talents do you hide from the local women?’

The edge of the sun's disk was already lost in the swiftly darkening waves on the horizon, but the glimmer of light James’d spotted some moments ago suddenly reappeared, faintly whitening in the gathering darkness.

‘What’s wrong?’ Madame asked, as soon as he frowned thoughtfully, and also started looking out at the sea. ‘What is it?’

‘A ship. Maybe,’ James answered. The dimness of the window glass made it impossible to tell for sure, and this glimmer might've been the last of the sun's rays. But if it was a ship, whose ship was it? ‘I'll go on deck.’

Madame was supposed to remain in the wardroom, but she was the first to run up the steps and up the quarterdeck, gripping the edge of the gunwale till her fingers became white as she peered into the gloom on the horizon.

‘Do you see the flag?’

‘No,’ James denied, looking at the horizon through the telescope. Still it was a ship. ‘It's too far. But you have nothing to fear, Madame, even if they are pirates...’

‘It's not the pirates that I'm afraid of, Lieutenant,’ Madame Delannois said in a suddenly low voice, and the wind blowing the sails took that almost timid whisper away. ‘Forgive me. I'm sorry I didn't get off your ship in time.’

‘What do you mean?’ James asked, folding the telescope and turning to face her. If Madame had expected them to fight, the captain should have known why.

‘I believe they’ve ve been following us all the way from Saint-Martin,’ Madame said, still in a low voice, and the wind blew her dark hair fiercely in her face. ‘And they're looking for me.’


	5. V

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A fluyt was a 17th century Dutch merchant ship.
> 
> The Dauntless is actually called a 'first-rate ship of line' but in reality those ships were too important and expensive to be send to the New World. (As I've read.)
> 
> I've chosen to make James the first Lieutenant of The Dauntless because... well, why not? He's great in the beginning of 'The Curse of The Black Pearl', so I definitely see him as a commanding officer most of time he spends on board. (And nobody cares about the Captain. Since he doesn't even named. No, he, of course, does have a name but I mention it for the first time only in the third fic in these series. 'Cause we have only one hero here.)

By the morning it was obvious that the ship on the horizon was hardly an accidental companion. She steered the same course as _The Dauntless_ , and her flag that fluttered proudly over the bowsprit was streaked with red, white, and blue. Was it a pirate disguise or truly...?

‘The Dutch?’ the Captain repeated doubtfully, when the sun had already risen and the ship had become close enough to see her flag through the telescope. ‘I see no reason to worry, Lieutenant. We have a peace treaty with the Dutch nowadays, and their fluyts are no match for His Majesty's ships of the line. Merchants!’ the Captain chuckled.

Perhaps James could’ve agreed with this. If it weren't for one reason. The reason that tried to avoid any questions by hiding in her cabin last night.

‘You are crossing all the possible borders, Lieutenant,’ Madame Delannois hissed furiously, unable to slam the door in his face. The struggle for it was brief but desperate, and her face flared out with a bright blush of displeasure.

‘I have to, Madame’ James retorted, leaning his other hand on the doorjamb with a force. ‘You'll have to explain yourself.’

‘I'm not going to…!’ Madame’s voice rose to a shriek as she retreated further into the cabin, but stopped when the door slammed shut. Behind him.

‘You're running. From whom?’

‘It's none of your business,’ Madame hissed again, already recovering lost ground after his outrageous intrusion, and her clear eyes darkened to a rifle-green color and narrowed menacingly.

‘As long as you are on this board, everything that threatens you is my concern, Madame. And even —’ he broke off for a moment, and her face assumed a confused expression. ‘When you’ll get off it.’

‘Are you trying to play white knight to me, Lieutenant?’ Madame chuckled, regaining her composure. ‘Don't bother, I had no intention of asking you to fight a duel in defense of my honor. I'm sorry I’ve ever dragged you into this.’

‘Madame,’ James retorted dryly, ‘if you consider an officer of the Royal Navy being afraid of some merchants or any other…’

‘Then you would’ve already challenged me to a duel,’ Madame snorted. ‘If I were a man.’

But a moment later she lowered her eyes, frowned and sighed heavily. ‘I don't think they're merchants. I... had some business on the Dutch side of Saint-Martin, but I hoped I got away. They must’ve been checking all the ships that left the island that day.’

‘And what is this business about if it could have raised an entire fleet?’

‘The ‘fleet’ is a too bold term, Lieutenant,’ Madame smiled, but her attempt to distract him was too obvious. ‘It’s just a ship or two, I assure you. Nothing more.’

‘Madame,’ James said in a hard voice, and her smile faded in a flash.

‘You ask questions I cannot answer,’ Madame admitted, almost in a whisper. ‘Because it's not really a business of mine.’

‘Then whose is it?’

‘France, Lieutenant.'

'France,' James repeated dryly, knowing in the depth of his heart that he should have expected something like this. If he’d truly thought about it from the start and hadn’t only admired her unruly dark curls, sparkling eyes and delicate features, he would’ve noticed this woman behaving suspiciously almost from the first meeting. He would’ve noticed her taking advantage of the fact that men wouldn’t not ask a married woman unnecessary questions. ‘And you decided to get away from your distress on the Royal Navy ship. Smart.’

Madame's lips trembled slightly like she was hurt. She knew perfectly well that his words were not a compliment.

‘I didn't plan this, Lieutenant. Our meeting was an accident.’

‘But you made use of it.’

‘I was hoping,’ Madame muttered, biting her lip resentfully, ‘that they wouldn't risk getting involved with the military men.’

‘Well,’ James answered dryly. ‘We won't know until they catch up with us. If they're after us at all.’

Madame paused, with her eyes looking down penitently, as if she were once more pretending to be a damsel in distress.

‘How long will it take them?’

‘I know nothing about their ship, Madame, but with such a wind… I guess we have time until the morning.’

‘What —’ Madame paused again, still not daring to look at him, ‘will you tell the Captain?’

‘I’ll tell him about an unknown ship being sighted on the horizon,’ James replied, still dryly, and turned on his heel placing his hand on the door handle. ‘I don't have any other information yet.’

‘Lieutenant,’ Madame said, with genuine desperation in her voice, and rushed forward, gripping his wrist tightly with her trembling fingers. ‘I'm not your enemy.’

‘Perhaps not today,’ James agreed reluctantly. ‘But the question is, won't you be the one tomorrow?’

‘I am not a soldier who will raise a rifle against you,’ Madame replied, almost in a whisper.

‘But you are quite capable of turning that soldier in my direction. I think that's exactly what you did when you came on board of _The Dauntless_.'

‘I'm not asking you to risk your… to risk anything while helping me,’ Madame said slowly, blinking resentfully, as if his perfectly polite voice offended her more than any of blatant insults he might’ve said. And she repeated in a timid tone that was not her usual voice at all. ‘I am not your enemy. I don't want to be your enemy… James.’

He should have kept the distance — especially now when this woman started to reveal secrets he would rather not know at all, — but his voice softened almost against his will.

‘Good night, Madame,’ James said, opening the cabin door and leaving without looking back.

In the morning Madame Delannois did not appear on the upper deck. Perhaps she was still asleep — if, of course, she hadn’t spent the entire night tossing on bed or even about the cabin, — or, maybe, she was just trying not to draw attention to herself. Not to remind them that she was even on board. It was probably the right thing to do.

The wind had changed at daybreak, and the Dutch fluyt went full sail, cutting through the choppy dark water like a sword drawn from its scabbard was cutting a bare flesh. The striped flag fluttered in agony in the wind, and the mingled colors of scarlet and blue made it seem as blood on the surface of the sea.

‘Not good,’ the second Lieutenant Francis Hagthorpe muttered. A joyful fox he was when it wasn’t about his duties, and thus he immediately noticed, just like James, the riot of bright canvas, which had not yet faded from the sun and salt. ‘I’ve never thought that some merchants are so superior to us in speed.’

‘They're half our size!’ the third Lieutenant exaggerated, getting up from the upper gun deck. ‘And we are much better armed.’

‘But they are more maneuverable!’

"They're sending a signal," James said shortly, cutting off the argument. ‘Report to the Captain.’

He would’ve rather waited and not ordered to heave aback yet, but the Captain had a different opinion. The Dutchman was probably no threat to _The Dauntless_ , but the Lord only knew what the uninvited guests wanted to speak about. And how the Captain could react to that.

As the Dutch lowered the boat and approached _The Dauntless_ , cutting the dark water with their long oars, James noticed — out of the corner of his eye, without even realizing at first what had confused him — a shadow appearing on the ladder to the cabins. She did not go up to the upper deck, but stopped at the very edge between the bright top step and the rest of the stairs, which were dark as at night. She must have been watching them attentively.

And what was he supposed to do with her?

‘Good morning, gentlemen,’ said the leader of the Dutch in not very good English, as he came on board, introduced himself and asked. ‘May I ... speak to the Captain of this fine ship?’

James found himself shielding the ladder to the upper deck with his back.

_Just don’t draw attention, you, dashing French fox. Stay where you are and I will handle it. Just don’t…_

‘What is it?’ the Captain replied in a flat, even indifferent tone. And luckily he didn’t hurry to invite guests to a more suitable place for possible negotiations.

‘We are coming from the island of Sint Maarten. And we're looking for... one stolen thing.’

‘Excuse me?’ James asked politely, taking advantage as the Captain frowned in hesitation, not expecting such a statement. ‘Are you accusing His Majesty's officers of theft?’

‘Lieutenant,’ the Captain said, recovering lost ground and yet frowning even more.

‘I beg your pardon, sir,’ James apologized politely, hiding his eyes in the shadow of his hat. It felt like he was walking on a plank above a deadly whirlpool. One careless word he’d say, and the Captain would send him away or take the Dutch to the Captain’s quarters.

‘Not at all, officer,’ the Dutchman went on, choosing his words carefully, but James immediately noticed the force of the Dutch's grip on the sword hilt. ‘But we do know that something... extremely valuable was stolen from a well-respected man. The thief got away from us on the French side of the island and handed over the stolen goods before we could catch him.’

‘And what does this have to do with His Majesty's Fleet?’ the Captain asked dryly. ‘This is a ship of a line and not a trading vessel. And we are no smugglers.’

‘But you were in the French harbor of Sint Maarten that day. The harbor master was kind enough to inform us of all the ships had been anchored in the Bay.’

Had they threatened the French or simply paid them for this information? Well, the details didn't actually matter.

‘The thief may have hidden the stolen on board of your ship. He even might be on board himself. Did you take passengers, Captain?

Is it possible they don't know she’s a woman? Or do they know, but deliberately pretend not to as they are trying to ... save face?

‘This is a warship,’ James reminded, breaking into the conversation once again. ‘We don't take any passengers on board.’

This time the Captain said nothing. Whatever he had said before — _‘you invited this lady on board, Lieutenant, and you are responsible for her safety’_ — the final decision was still left to the Captain.

‘You could have been paid,’ the Dutchman argued. ‘As far as I know, she is not poor.’

_She? Damn._

‘So,’ James protested, hoping that the Captain didn’t have time to focus on the fatal 'she'. ‘Are you accusing us of bribery now?!’

Done. The Captain's nostrils spread with anger, and he sniffed the salty air before answering.

‘Leave our ship. Immediately!’

‘You don't understand!’ the Dutchman was still arguing. ‘The Governor of Sint Maarten…’

‘Oh, even if it would be the Lord himself! No one may accuse me and my crew of such ... abomination!’

James did not interfere in the further conversation. If this exchange of insults could’ve been called a conversation at all. The Captain was doing an excellent job on his own, only getting angrier with every word he heard, and even grabbed the handle of his pistol after the demand to search through the ship. Which caused shock and indignation to all who heard it.

‘You'll regret it!’ The Dutch almost snarled as he climbed back down the rope ladder to his boat, but the Captain was completely exasperated by this statement, and in response he wished the Dutch to go to the Davy Jones’ locker and take with him his ship, the Governor of the Dutch part of Saint Martin and all his beloved Holland as well.

‘Hoist the sails!’ the Captain snapped after he made sure that the Dutch were not going to return. ‘Lieutenant Norrington...!’

‘Sir!’ Francis called out to both of them, watching the Dutch fluyt intently. She was indeed much more maneuverable than a massive second-rate ship of the line. And she had already caught the wind, approaching _The Dauntless_ and opening gunports on the port. ‘They are…!’

‘Starboard! Load the guns!’

The Dutchman was impatient. Or she was afraid of a possible volley from all three English decks at once, and thus she opened fire the moment James heard from below the sound of dozens of gunports opening at the same time. _The Dauntless_ shuddered, deafening everyone on the upper deck and knocking almost half of them off their feet, and for several moments they were lost in smoke rising from somewhere below. James caught the gunwale with his left hand, and one of the ship’s tackles whizzed in the air, slapping him across the face.

‘Are we on fire?’ Francis suggested busily, getting hastily on his feet. ‘What a madmen would attack a three-decked ship with such a pipsqueak of a vessel! I even wonder what they are looking for!’

‘Fire!’ the third Lieutenant's voice came from somewhere below, and the upper deck was once more lost in a smoke, this time thick and black, before it dispersed over the sea. James rushed to the ladder in the center of the deck and shouted.

‘Load with chain shots!’

‘Aye, sir! Good idea!’ the third Lieutenant answered cheerfully from below.

A pair of chain-linked cannonballs shot out of the long gun with a thunderous whoosh, and the mainmast of the approaching fluyt slowly collapsed with a crack of breaking wood. The Dutch should have stopped there, but they were probably looking for something really valuable. And the wind brought a boarding order in Dutch.

The enraged Captain, who had lost his hat in a volley from the fluyt, replied to this cry in terms entirely inappropriate to an officer of His Majesty's Royal Navy.

‘They’re mad! How many men do they have?!’ Francis asked as the grappling hooks struck the starboard and the officers' swords clanked.

‘Sixty-seventy, not more!’ James replied, cocking his pistol, but the first shot put an end to a barely begun boarding.

The captain of the Dutch vessel leaped over the gunwale right in front of him, raised a hand with a bare sword, and the shouts on deck were momentarily drowned out by the roar of the pistol shot. The Dutch captain staggered, his eyes turning wide in disbelief, a trickle of dark blood ran down his temple, and he collapsed on deck under a dozen of startled stares.

‘Gentlemen,’ a woman's voice spoke in perfect Dutch in the smoke filled air, and the shocked crew — _merchants, indeed_ — turned slowly to the sound of that voice. ‘Your captain is dead. I suppose you'd better go back to your ship. If, of course, these gentlemen are willing to forget about your attack.’

For a moment, James thought he was dreaming. And his dream was a nightmare. Catherine Delannois was standing near the port gunwale, and rags of dark smoke were rising from a discharged pistol in her hand.


	6. VI

The ladder swayed under his feet like a back of a sea serpent or some other monster that superstitious sailors were telling tales about in taverns, and the candle light in the lamp flickered from side to side, making it impossible to see the next step clearly. This was happening due to fatigue and a monstrous pitching. And the pitching was perhaps the main reason of his trouble. Just before the sunset the sky had overcast with heavy clouds that seemed to hang over the mainmast itself, and a strong wind had sprung up, howling incessantly in the gathering gloom over the sea. _The Dauntless_ was in danger of being caught in a storm. As if their previous troubles weren't enough.

His father would say that such thoughts were not allowed. Not for a Lieutenant of his Majesty’s Royal Navy, who should face all the difficulties with his head held high. Not for a son of the redoubtable Admiral, who feared neither sea nor human treachery. Fortunately, the Admiral wasn’t on board. But there were still enough reasons to be in a bad mood.

And one of these reasons must have been waiting for someone, as she opened the door of her cabin just as she heard footsteps in the narrow, dim corridor.

‘Madame,’ James said dryly with no intention to linger by the door, but it swung wide in response, blocking almost half of the corridor.

‘You look as if you want to throw me overboard,’ Madame Delannois answered in a low voice but with surprising calmness, leaning her other hand on the dark doorjamb.

‘I would if you were a man,’ James agreed. ‘But fortunately for you, I am powerless to do anything when I am made a fool by a woman.’

‘James,’ Madame sighed, but if she had hoped to soften him by doing so, she had miscalculated profoundly.

‘It’s ‘Lieutenant Norrington’ to you, Madame. And I think your husband will agree that you shouldn’t forget about decency.’

‘Very well, Lieutenant,’ Madame said, lowering her dark lashes. ‘Please, come in. I don't want to talk to you in the middle of the corridor.’

‘No,’ James cut off and passed her in the widest arc that the narrow corridor and the cursed increasing pitching would allow. ‘I assume you've already discussed everything with the Captain. My participation in this issue is certainly unrequired.’

She sighed again, this time behind him, and carefully closed the door of her cabin. Leaving herself in the corridor.

‘You're right, Lieutenant. I spoke to the Captain. But it is obvious to me that you and I are also in need of a serious conversation. I don't want you to get a wrong impression of me.’

It would have been too rude to slam the door of his cabin in her face. And it would have been impossibly foolish to allow her come in. However, as he had pointed out a few moments earlier, she had already made a fool of him. Even if the rest of the crew hadn’t realized it.

‘I'm afraid you’re a little late, Madame, and the impression is already made,’ James retorted, setting the lamp on the narrow table and tossing his hat and officer's uniform beside it. ‘And I can't say that I find this impression as a pleasant one. Now, if you'll excuse me,’ he said almost politely, as he sat down on the hard berth and stretched out his legs with an unwilled groan. ‘I'm tired to death and I don't have any desire to talk to anyone.’

If only. She didn't even think of leaving. Instead, she bolted the door and frowned darkly.

‘If I didn't know what kind of person you are, I'd think you are drunk.’

'And you don't know,’ James snapped, forgetting about his politeness. Great. Now she wanted to make him look guilty.

Madame, too, seemed to understand that she had said too much, and asked in a completely different voice, low and almost timid.

‘What are you so angry about? No one was killed or nearly injured, and the ship...’

‘They fired too soon,’ James said dryly, leaning forward with his hands on his bent knees. ‘Not like this fluyt was a real threat, but if she had gotten any closer, the damage could have been much worse. And you should be afraid that someone else will come after you. Since you’ve crossed the path of a certain respectable person. Who knows if he hasn’t already send another ship after you?’

‘Hardly, Lieutenant,’ Madame said with surprising calm. ‘I killed him.’

James closed his eyes for a moment and chose to remain silent.

‘So what are you so mad at?’ Madame repeated, still in a low voice, and took a cautious step to him. ‘And what makes you think I wanted to make a fool of you?’

‘Madame,’ James said almost venomously. ‘I've never met a woman who could kill a man with a shot like yours. And with a flintlock pistol. You are _very_ accurate. And I can't understand why you asked for help if you obviously didn't need it.’

‘Why?’ Madame asked very quietly, taking another step. ‘I'm a merchant's wife, not a naval officer. I don't own a ship, I don't know much about steering it, and I've never even held a sword. I only have a couple of pistols, and you know as well as I do how much time it takes to reload them. And as for accuracy…’ she broke off and smiled both sad and dreamy. ‘My father loved to hunt wild ducks and often took me to the swamps with him. So I... got the hand in it.’

‘And I'm supposed to believe that?’ James asked dryly, being completely unaffected by her words. Madame paused and lifted the corner of her lips in a sarcastic smile.

‘Your Captain did believe. And the ducks, and the fact that I don't have any… valuable items. But I’ve feared that you can't be fooled so easily,’ she agreed, walking slowly, even carefully, up to him. She raised her hand, softly touching with the tips of her fingers the dark line on his cheekbone and temple. James flinched and caught her hot hand, holding it tightly in his fingers.

‘Bruises don't suit you, if you want to know,’ Madame said softly, almost tenderly, and leaned forward before he even knew what she was up to. Her long brown hair fell over his face, warm soft lips pressed to his mouth, and she leaned forward, pressing her body against his without the slightest confusion. He needed to pull her away, to remind her of her husband, who was probably waiting for her in Port Royal, to remind himself... But all the thoughts were immediately thrown out of his head, even before they were formed into words.

She pulled back on her own — no doubt laughing inwardly at the way he breathed out without opening his eyes, — and he still asked a question that nagged him from the moment he saw her firing a pistol.

‘Are you trying to buy _me_ now?’

Madame flinched as if she had been slapped, pursed her lips for a moment and asked in an icy tone, discarding all politeness.

‘Did you call me a whore, Lieutenant?’

‘No, Madame. I have no idea who you are, and I have no right to judge you. But now... I don't even know how to understand it. Although I must say that if you want to win someone's trust, you should choose the Captain of this ship and not one of the Lieutenants. It will be more useful.’

She pressed her lips together again, but spoke as if she had heard something foolish yet almost harmless.

‘For God's sake, James! You still don't understand anything, do you?! I don't need the Captain of this damned ship! I want you!’

She pushed his chest with her hand, forcing him to lean back against the hard pillow, wrapping her arms and legs around him like a deadly vine, and kissed him with the greed of a thirsty man who stumbled upon a well of water in the middle of a vast desert. It was wrong, unfair to the man who was waiting for her return, un... Unbearable to continue and impossible to stop.

‘James,’ Catherine murmured between kisses, until he pressed her against the hard, straw-filled mattress and tried to catch his breath as he tore off his half-untied white cravat.

‘I... can't.’

‘Am I not beautiful enough?’

‘What?’

Not beautiful enough? She? He had to be blind if he did not see the sly golden sparks in the depths of her green eyes. If he did not admire her delicate features and the curls of her brown hair. And he would've been truly foolish if he did not understand her true nature behind the mask of cunning and mockery.

‘Yes. Yes, you are, but...’

‘Well, then," Catherine whispered, leaning forward and pulling the long coat off her shoulders. ‘To hell with everything else.’

And she began to undo the buttons on her narrow waistcoat. She dropped it on the floor, clutched the hemline of her thin white shirt, which barely concealed the outline of her breasts, and James closed his eyes. He had no right even to look at her.

The rustle of clothing was drowned out by a short, very quiet chuckle.

‘You know, it's impossible not to fall in love with you.’

And she clung to him again, hot, passionate, pleading. As she was the most terrific storm in these waters. If a great hurricane was to break out, raising waves fifty feet high, those waves would seem insignificant compared to the way she moaned, arching her back, causing her long hair to lash her shoulders and chest, and almost impaling herself on him again and again. Begging him not to stop — as if there was any power in the world that could tear him away from those lips and that long neck — and moaning in French.

‘Je t'aime…’

Over and over again, until he succumbed to a hot wave of pleasure, almost seeing stars and giving the last of his strength to suppress a desperate groan. Until they were both so exhausted that they couldn't even unclasp their hands, letting each other go.

‘You’re shivering,’ Catherine whispered, still pressing her body against his, and stroked his tangled hair before kissing tenderly his trembling lips. ‘Was it so good?’

‘I… I…’

‘Shh…’ she smiled softly and kissed him to sleep, gently touching his face and neck with her warm lips. And then she laid, feeling the calm breaths tickling her chest and listening to the waves lapping around the ship. She stroked his long dark hair again, admiring even the way it waved in her fingers, kissed the top of his head and murmured, knowing that she would not wake him even if she ordered all the ship's guns to be fired at once.

‘Mon amour. Mon tendre amour.’


	7. VII

The storm had never started. Catherine knew it before she opened her eyes — feeling rough, tingling fabric of the sheet against her skin — and slid her hand sleepily over the equally rough pillow, already knowing that she would find only emptiness. This bed was too narrow to not notice his absence at the first moment of awakening.

Was it a watch? Or had the noble gentleman been so troubled by his conscience after having an affair with another man’s wife that he had simply run away? Hoping that so he wouldn't have to look her in the eye when she woke up? Perhaps the second thought was preferable. There was something inexplicably charming about finding under an officer's uniform, under that symbol of masculine confidence and steadfastness such a confusion and even boyish vulnerability.

When Catherine opened her eyes, she saw nothing but darkness. She narrowed her eyes then and noticed a slightly lighter spot in the single window of the cabin. The ship was rocking on the waves, but this pitching would seem strong only to someone who had put to sea for the first time. If there had been any storm that night, it had passed miles away without disturbing their sleep.

She had to grope for clothes in the dark and to button up carefully, straightening the lace on her shirt's jabot. In case if anyone might notice her out of her cabin at that unearthly hour. Catherine returned to her place to brush her hair, and couldn't resist finding a tortoiseshell comb amongst her belongings. Not the prettiest one she had — all the worth jewelry was locked up and guarded by her husband — but it still helped her... to feel more confident.

It was cold on the upper deck. A transparent, whitish haze floated over the dark gray sea, which almost merged in color with the slowly lightening sky in the East, and serpentined in the bone-chilling wind. Catherine wrapped herself up at the first gust from the stern and listened carefully as men's voices came from the quarterdeck.

‘... won't stop him. His Majesty's ship, _The Dauntless_ , has made port, and the Governor is obliged to receive the Captain even at midnight.’

‘In full dress and at the table. So that these fine gentlemen will enjoy the best Caribbean wine while we’ll scrub the deck as a punishment for our disrespect.’

Catherine went to the left ladder, listening intently to his low, deep laughter, and began to climb up the stairs cautiously, feeling like she was a hunter in the thicket, stalking a deer carelessly drinking from a creek.

The second Lieutenant bowed his head politely, noticing her first — which seemed a bit paradoxical to Catherine — and smiled. ‘Madame. You took us by surprise.’

‘I couldn't sleep, Monsieur,’ Catherine said and lifted the corners of her lips. Not actually responding to one man's affability but rather smiling at the other one's avoidance of her gaze. ‘And I didn't know the Lieutenants also serve as wheelmen."

‘He couldn't resist, Madame. Promise not to tell the Captain, please. His Magnificence does not trust his Beauty to just anyone,’ the Lieutenant chuckled and smiled again, now assuming an apologetic look. As he noticed James' meaningful look and an equally meaningful movement of the eyebrows. ‘I beg your pardon, Madame. I'll go check our Dutch friends.’

Catherine watched him leaving and then took another step, folding her hands behind her back.

‘What's it like to take a ship like that to the horizon?’

James gave her an almost shy glance from under his hat — a glance of not a harsh officer he probably wanted to appear — and then held out his hand.

‘Are you trying to compromise my honor, Lieutenant?’ Catherine asked, unable to repress a smile, and accepted his offer.

‘Never, Madame,’ James replied and stepped aside. ‘Easier,’ he said, as Catherine's fingers tightened on one of the steering handles. ‘She's very… sensitive.’

‘As any woman is,’ Catherine smiled, putting her other hand on the wheel and pausing before speaking again. ‘I’ve… never done such a thing.’

James gave her another quick glance from under his hat. Of course, he realized that she wasn't talking about the steering wheel.

‘I've never wanted to do anything like this,’ Catherine continued, looking at the slowly lightening horizon. ‘But I know what you're thinking of.’

He was silent for a few moments, gathering his thoughts, which seemed to her unbearably long, and then he put his hand on the wheel, his fingers almost touching hers.

‘You don't.’

‘I do,’ Catherine argued. ‘It's not hard to guess what...’

‘I was thinking,’ James answered before she could finish, ‘about how you ended up marrying a man you obviously don't love.’

‘I don't,' Catherine agreed. ‘Neither he does. Jealous he is as any husband, but this marriage is just an agreement between two... persons of business.’

‘An agreement?’ James repeated, and she turned to face him, trying to discern the color of his eyes. Silver-green in the light of day, jade in the flame of a candle, they turned coal-gray in a gloom, almost losing that stunning green tint. ‘But for what purpose?’

Catherine's mouth twitched with displeasure, and she tried her best not to look away.

‘It seemed to be the only way correct at least some of my mistakes. I'm afraid the story of my fall is as old as this world and not interesting at all.’

‘Your fall?’

She paused, surrendering to avert her gaze, but felt with almost every inch of her skin that he was still watching her face intently, noticing the slightest movement of her lips and eyes.

‘I was sixteen when my mother died in the childbirth. She wasn’t really old, but it turned out she was expecting twins. One of the girls didn't survive either, and the other one was named after my mother. As my father was trying to… not to replace the loss, as it was impossible, but still — " she started dryly, not choosing her words properly, and knowing too well that she would not deceive anyone with her tone of indifference. Not James, for sure. ‘They loved each other deeply. My father outlived her by only six months. He simply... dried up ин grief. We thought we would handle it, but... Three clueless girls with a half-year-old child, what could we do? We had no idea how to run a plantation, and didn’t understand anything at all in our father's papers or accounts. As soon as he died, our house was flooded with visitors who claimed that we were up to our necks in debt. That our land would be taken away, our house would be taken away, all of our money would be taken away, and we would end up either on the street or in a brothel somewhere on the dock.

‘And nobody…?’ James asked carefully, and Catherine's lips tightened for a moment.

‘I wish I could say so. But my father had a friend. As I thought. He was a widower whose children we used to play with. He was happy save us from a miserable fate of sailor’s whores and he quickly dealt with all creditors. At least, he convinced us of it. But the help wasn't gratuitous. One of us had to pay. And what's probably funniest thing of all, he turned it so that I was happy. I...’ she broke off, took a deep breath of cold air, and continued in the same dry, almost indiferent voice. ‘I was happy that we got off so easily. Until I realized I was expecting a child. It was so foolish and unbelievable to conceive after the first night with a man that I didn't even think it would happen. _Fool, as I am_.’ Catherine spat out, unable to control her voice anymore, and felt a gentle touch on her arm. ‘Of course, he wasn't going to marry me. And he made it very clear that only a decent woman could become his wife. Not the one like me. Then I rushed to the Church. As I hoped for Christian mercy. I… still had illusions. Not on Heaven, but on earthborn creatures. I forgot that whores should be stoned. Henri was there when the priest began to scold me, completely forgetting about the secret of the confessional. And Henri ... came when I was sobbing at the churchyard, not knowing whose help to seek for. He suggested a way out that suited everyone. No,’ Catherine added, knowing what James was thinking of. ‘I didn't carry the child to term. I lost it that evening Henti proposed and I was happy, God forgive me. But Henri didn't go back on his word when I told him. And I'm grateful to him. But I couldn't fall in love with him.’

She needed more than just gratitude to say that she loves a man. She needed... to quiver to the slightest touch of his hand. She desired to feel this every touch even hours after a night spent together. She desperately needed passion and tenderness bound together in her every thought of him. She… wanted to find out how hard it would be to hold back her sudden tears when he’d say with nothing but sympathy and tenderness in his voice that whoever had dared to hurt her should have been killed in a duel.

Hard? Oh no. _Impossible_ it was.

‘I believe God will punish him for what he did,’ Catherine replied, still trying to blink away those tears, and bowed her head, resting her cheek at his shoulder. Even if someone would notice them in the dark... Well, she didn't care.

James was silent until the sky lightened to pearly gray color and the horizon turned into a bright white line.

‘You don't need to get off the ship at the first port we make. It's safer for you on board of _The Dauntless_. I'll speak to the Captain.’

‘I don't want to...’

‘ _I_ want to,’ he interrupted her, his tone being completely impatient of contradiction. As he put his hand on her shoulder, literally hiding her from the world in his embrace.


	8. VIII

The papers were tied with hair ribbon, and its dark silk looked like streaks of dirt that crisscrossed the smooth black lines on the yellowish parchment. Monsieur Jean-Philippe de Villeret, a bald-headed old man with a pointed beard and sharp dark eyes, grasped the papers with the delight of a child who had received his first wooden sword as a gift from his father, and hastily untied a bow of the ribbon. His eyes glowed with joy as he read the first lines.

‘Excellent, Madame! You have arrived just in time, and with such news! These papers...’

‘I am glad to serve France, Monsieur,’ Catherine replied in a flat voice, not allowing any emotion to be read on her face. She was almost sick in the absence of the ship's rocking, and had to measure the length of her sentences carefully to avoid… possible awkward situation.

‘And I saw the ship that brought you to port. Let me pay a tribute to your intelligence, as I can swear the Dutch didn’t ever think to look for you on an English vessel. Especially on a military one.’

‘They did, Monsieur,’ Catherine said, casting wary glances as she studied the dimly lit office. ‘That Van Dort was smarter than I thought. If he even thought to link the missing documents to me. However,’ she chuckled cynically after a short pause, ‘if he’d been truly smart, he would have checked the guests invited to his house more carefully. Instead of showing himself off before the Governor's daughters. And he wouldn't have boarded a warship.’

Monsieur de Villeret raised his eyebrows at her last remark, and folded his hands over his fat stomach in a richly embroidered waistcoat of vine-red color.

‘Oh, it looks like you had experienced a real adventure. Tell me about it, Madame, I beg you. Satisfy the curiosity of an old man who has long forgotten the smell of the storm.’

Adventure? Was it really? All her thoughts at that very moment were of the faces in the thick black smoke, separated by only a few paltry inches. She shouldn't have fired. She should not even have gone on deck when the air was filled with shouts and cannon roaring. She had no right to rick so foolishly her entire mission just because... she was frightened. But her thoughts kept returning to that night — not the first, but the second, — when she laid on an uncomfortable pillow and watched his face, trying to memorize its every feature. Before she almost sank in the sound of his voice. As she did from the very first moment she heard him speaking in Port Royal.

_‘Why did you shoot?’_

She paused before replying and caressed his cheek with her slightly trembling fingers.

_‘This is foolish. But I suddenly realized that I can't just stand by and watch you risk your life for a woman who isn't worth it. It was as if ... I had never feared before.’_

Catherine would have understood if he had laughed at a naïve woman afraid of a usual boarding. Usual for him, but definitely not for her.

But he didn't laugh. He didn't even smile and asked in a surprisingly serious voice. Oh, that voice she was ready to... that she _wanted_ _to_ listen to every moment of her life.

_‘What made you think you were unworthy?’_

That did. This woman was not worth the slightest risk, for she was now standing in a darkened office, telling how she had opened a secretaire to steal papers, bills, and cards. All those documents that were of no use to herself.

‘Have you already been to the Captain's cabin?’

‘Excuse me?’ Catherine repeated, slightly confused by this interruption of her thoughts. By the very voice of Monsieur de Villeret, and by what that voice said.

‘Perhaps the Captain may invite you to dinner,’ Monsieur was not at all disconcerted. Or maybe he didn't truly understand what subtext he was putting in his words. ‘I assume that it might be too dangerous to search through a military officer's quarters… And I don't want you to suffer any distress, Madame, but I believe that any trifle you happen to notice may be very useful to... experienced people. What did you see on this English ship? Didn’t you catch any sight of their orders or reports? For what purpose did they go to sea? And what is their heading?’

Catherine kept silent. No thought was left in her head, not a single coherent word, but only... a bitter resentment.

_This is... unfair._

‘Madame?’

It's just a man. How many of them are there? How many of the officers sailing under a foreign flag? How many of them are young and too honest fools, stubbornly standing their ground on what they believe is right and being ready to fight to the death for it? How many of them knew that they could send her to her own death with a single word, but chose to remain silent? How many...?

Only one.

‘I beg your pardon, Monsieur,’ Catherine apologized. ‘I don't seem to understand what you're talking about. France is at peace with England now, isn't it? Or have you received unpleasant news from the Old World?’

‘Peace,’ Monsieur chuckled, as if he had heard a complete nonsense. ‘Madame, we've been already working together for a couple of years, and I have to say that you used to be more astute.’

Catherine hardy resisted a sarcastic response. New France's web of secret agents stretched across all the Caribbean, numbering dozens, if not hundreds, of people loyal to the Crown, and the wife of a humble merchant Henri Delannois should have been grateful that she was even remembered by her name. But she wasn't grateful. All she felt was a sharply increased nausea.

_I won't do it. I... don't want to._

‘France is in need of any information about England's strength at sea,’ Monsieur de Villeret continued. ‘We must know everything you saw or heard on that shipboard.’

‘The ship's Captain is no fool,’ Catherine said dryly. ‘He only helped me because he knows my husband, who, in his turn, is a friend of the Governor of Jamaica. But the Captain of _The Dauntless_ —’ she took a deep breath, cursing the ground beneath her feet for being too hard and motionless, and continued. ‘The Captain doesn't allow outsiders anywhere near confidential records. I am a woman, Monsieur, and I know that I am less suspicious in the eyes of men, but the English Royal Navy has reasons to be considered the best in the seven seas. I’m sorry but I can't help you.’

Monsieur de Villeret was not at all convinced. He clasped his spidery fingers over his stomach again, narrowed his little eyes tenaciously, and stormed Catherine with a true deluge of questions.

‘How am I supposed to know about their ammunition, Monsieur?’ she demanded, crossing her arms and clutching the stiff cuffs of her long coat. ‘Are you suggesting I should go down into the hold and count the cannonballs? This is a military ship, Monsieur, and I will end my life on the yardarm if I am even slightly suspected.’

‘You said yourself, Madame, that the Captain was a friend of your husband’s…

‘First of all, he is a military officer!’ Catherine spat out in exasperation. ‘And his acquaintance with Monsieur Delannois will not save me from the gallows.’

Oh, the sea devil take Dirk Van Dort and the crew of his unfortunate fluyt! She'd thought the worst was over when she'd shot him on the deck of _The Dauntless_ and lied to the Captain, pretending she was running from a man who didn't take a woman's ‘no’ as a refusal. She would not have gone ashore at the first port they made, as she’d promised at first, if the Captain had not wanted to get rid of the Dutch prisoners. And once she got off the ship, she could not avoid meeting the nearest person she could hand over the stolen papers. A spider in a red waistcoat, lurking in the heart of the island of St. Christopher divided between the Crowns of England and France. One of the dozens of spiders that lurked in the dark corners of almost every colony in the Caribbean.

France needs… France wants… Henri always spoke of it with such fervor. Henri begged for her help when he realized that he was no longer able to serve France as before. Everything in the name of his Majesty Louis, the Sun King. Everything to be sacrificed on the altar of the greatness of France. Even her, his own wife.

And it was assumed that she shouldn’t even doubt his decision.

When she finally left the dark, inhospitable house — that inhospitality seemed to be felt physically by every inch of her skin, — the streets were already plunged into a thick, viscous and almost oily darkness. Catherine took a deep breath, feeling her nausea finally receded, and pulled her hat down, though she could hardly pass for a man even in this gloom. But she had only taken a few steps away from Monsieur de Villeret's house when another shadow appeared in the darkness. For a moment, Catherine couldn't help but let out a loud, startled sigh. Before she gasped again and almost hissed, choking with indignation.

‘Did you spy on me?’

The answer was laconic and discomposed her even more. ‘I accompanied you.’

‘I didn't ask for it!’

‘I didn't ask for a boarding either,’ James replied, calmly offering her his hand. Catherine hesitated for a moment, but didn't dare push him away. ‘I believe that your escapades have a certain tendency to turn into trouble. Not only for yourself, but also for those who are unlucky enough to be near you at the moment. So I'd rather be on my guard.’

‘I was just paying a visit to an old family friend,’ Catherine said dully, looking down at her feet. Not because she was that much embarrassed and felt guilty but she didn’t want to get knee-deep in the mud of deep carriage ruts.

‘Would it be rude of me to say that I don't believe a word?’ his tone suggested that he was joking, and Catherine decided to play along.

‘Well, at least one word is true. I did pay a visit.’

‘The only question is… what the result will be,’ his playful tone was already gone, and Catherine lowered eyes again, looking carefully at muddy puddles.

All the conversations had already begun to lead nowhere. _Everything_ was leading to nowhere. It should have ended that very night after the fight with the Dutch, should have been just an accident, another brief adventure on the way home. A fleeting encounter, short-lived happiness during which she didn't have to think ‘What's next?’ Because there could’ve been no ‘next’. She should have refused the generous offer to stay with him on board of _The Dauntless_. She should have given up that false sense of safety, and run away, returning to her familiar world. Instead, she felt as if she had fallen into a pitch-dark slough and was blindly tossing now from side to side, unable to tell which of it was up and which was down.

‘James…’

‘Yes?’

_What can I say? What can I ask for? How ... can I turn into words such a simple and yet so complex thought?_

_I don't want it to be... like this. So that we are separated by ... almost everything we own. But the only thing we can do together is to drown. And I dare not ask you to risk it._

‘Catherine?’

‘Sorry. Forget it.’

She was silent even as she got on board of _The Dauntless_ that moored at the dark, wet and slimy dock, and walked along the deck, barely listening to the officers' conversations.

‘Gentlemen, I suggest we escape! Because it seems to me that our good Captain is completely delighted with the hospitality of the local authorities, and we are not going to see him until the morning!’

‘But he'll skin us alive if we don't get back before he does. No, gentlemen, I'd rather not take any chances.’

‘You know, Jim, there are times when I truly want to challenge you!’

‘May I ask what’s my fault?’

‘You are too perfect!’

Catherine went down the ladder — _ran_ to her cabin, — followed by a chorus of male laughter that echoed overhead. The temptation to lock herself in that cabin and not leave it until they reach Port Royal was growing stronger every moment. Or may she ask the Captain — beg, promising any reward — to detour his heading and drop the anchor near Martinique? Henri should have finished his business in Jamaica a few months ago. Of course, he was waiting for his wife on Martinique.

But she didn't want to go back.

 _‘Where are we going, Father?’_ A child's voice — her own voice — rang in her ears as she paced off her cabin. One-two-turn, one-two, turn...

_‘We’ve finally got a few acres of our own land, Dove. A wonderful land on a wonderful island. You'll like it. There are bright flowers, juicy fruits…’_

_‘And I've heard, the sea there can send anyone mad,’_ her mother laughed, taking a deep breath of a bitter, seaweed-scented air.

_‘Fortunately for us, dear, the sea loves men. And we have only daughters. I'm sure they will be able to resist.’_

No. One of them failed. She had become a sailor's wife in order to save what remained of her honor, but one day, standing on the deck of a French ship whose name had already faded from her memory, she realized that the sea was not just for men. She lost her head over a feeling of loneliness and freedom in the midst of those endless silver-green waves. And then... she truly lost herself because of a sailor.

_‘What is troubling you so much, my dear? Why are you so sad?’_

_‘Oh, Mother… I fell in love with him. His eyes... are just like the sea.’_

So inopportune. So inappropriate. So... vain. What would change if she dared declare her feelings out loud?

She went with her head high, but felt like a thief — such a familiar and yet strange feeling, — as if she was sneaking to his cabin, hiding in the shadows. And she lost her last shred of confidence when she ran into him in the doorway.

‘Sorry. I wanted…’

‘Just a moment, Madame,’ James replied in a perfectly polite tone, and made an inviting gesture before passing her and leaving the door open. Catherine didn't argue, but... stopped in the doorway as if she'd run into a wall. When she saw the papers scattered on the table.

_‘Anything, Madam. Any trifle. Any word you’ve heard by chance. Even the most insignificant and casual word would serve us well.’_

Any document. Not from the Captain's cabin, but...

Catherine stepped inside, her eyes fixed on the yellowish parchment sheets. If she dared think about it ... he wouldn’t not sneak back to his own cabin, as a thief, would he? She’d hear his footsteps long before he’d appear in the doorway again. And if she dared risk it… _‘Just a step, just a few words…’_

Catherine raised her hand. _‘Just reach it, just...’_ She bit her lip and paused, then clenched her fingers as tightly as the length of her nails would allow. And she took a step back, as if the narrow table was covered with constantly moving and intertwining snakes instead of papers, but... almost ran into someone else's shoulder, realizing only now that his footsteps had subsided too soon. He didn't leave. He stopped and returned to…

‘Did you test me?’ Catherine asked with both anger and resentment, turning to face him, and for a moment she felt an unbearable urge to grab her gun and shoot straight at that calm, almost indifferent face.

‘Yes, I did,’ James agreed, equally calmly. ‘And you gave a serious thought before you stepped back, didn’t you? So it turned out to be useful.’

‘Oh, did it?’ Catherine spat out, retreating back to the table again. Not trying to read anything this time, but gaining at least a few inches of air and emptiness in between them. _Safety._

‘Yes, it did,’ James repeated in a calm voice, as he closed the door. ‘You came ashore from an English warship, and your... friend must have known about it. And I suddenly thought… If the idea of searching through our papers hadn't come to you yet, it might have come to him. I guess I was right.’

Catherine wished she could go further than the table. Not because there was something scary in his voice or his eyes, but because... both the look and the voice now seemed to be a hypocrisy. Did he play with her, like a cat with a mouse, already condemning her to death? This thought must have been reflected on her face, as she had suddenly lost all of her self-control, and there was a sudden note of surprise and even confusion in his calm, almost indifferent voice.

‘Are you afraid of me?’

Catherine couldn't answer. She felt like someone squeezed her neck with ironlike fingers, and the cursed nausea that had plagued her in Monsieur de Villeret's house returned with renewed force, preventing her from uttering a word. Heaven knows, it would be kinder — and more cowardly — to lose her consciousness now.

‘Catherine.’

She had covered her face with her hands — fearing at least a slap in the face — and was not ready for an almost tender embrace. She was so unprepared that felt tears suddenly flowing from her eyes. They came almost with a gush when he spoke again.

‘Forgive me.’

Forgive _him_? Why was he apologizing when she should be the one to fall on her knees and beg for forgiveness? To beg for the chance to speak to him at least once in a while. At least... to look at him.

‘That night… You used it that I was a man, don't deny it. But I ... want to trust you. Or at least understand what moves you.’

‘It's not for me,’ Catherine forced herself to speak, smearing tears on her cheeks and not daring to look up. But felt when the hair on her nape was ruffled by the gentle touch of a warm hand.

‘Then why?’

‘And why do you need your oath of allegiance?’ her voice trembled and broke, but she stubbornly tried to continue. ‘I know what my fault is, but choosing between a hundred Dutch people who might suffer from my interference and a hundred Frenchmen who would suffer if I didn't, I would take the French side. Even if —’ Catherine raised her head and swallowed hard. ‘It won’t be the Dutch next time.’

‘And can you do that?’ James asked, his voice still being calm. As if he didn't believe a word.

No. Even if she could, she wouldn’t.

‘What do you want me to say?’ Catherine asked dully, seeing no point in denying that she had lost this fight not even on Saint-Martin, but on Jamaica. ‘I’ve made the worst mistake ever possible, I know. And I have no idea what to do with it now. And I... I… Oh, for Heaven’s sake! I fell in love with you even though I had no right to! It's so foolish and dishonorable, but I...!

She stopped, unable to find right words, and tried to pull away from his hand that wiped the tears from her cheek.

‘Don’t do it. We both know you don't have any reasons…’

‘Do you need a reason?’ James asked, wiping tears from her other cheek as well. ‘I have no reason to trust you, that’s true. But looking for reasons to love a woman…’ a smile flickered across his lips, and she wanted to kiss him so that she could feel this smile on her own lips. ‘It's an unhealthy urge to look for reasons somewhere where aren't any.’

‘That's rational,’ Catherine argued.

‘Is it?’ his smile became clearer, and her lure to kiss him did either. ‘When did love become rational? It is the greatest madness in the world, and what is the worst, there is no cure for it.’

‘Do you always talk so openly about love with another man’s wife?’

‘I talk about love with a woman who needs it.’

‘Is that so?’ Catherine asked, not denying her desperate need of these words. ‘And what do _you_ want? A woman you will love, or a woman who will love you? And why are you drawn to another man’s wife when you can choose any unmarried woman? What do you want, James?’ she repeated in an insinuating whisper, leaning forward and almost touching his lips with hers. ‘Why don't you want to be content with a reliable rear and a decent, always embroidering wife? You get bored with this kind of life pretty quickly, don't you? A life in which there is no ardor and pursuit of pirates, in which everything is so calm and correct. As it _should be_. You will go ashore once a year to give your wife another child, and then leave again. As you're a sailor. And sailors do not boast of calm in a quiet harbor, but of conquered storms on the open sea. Is that why you're so drawn to something that can't be yours?’

For a few moments there was silence in the cabin, broken only by the sound of uneven breathing. Eyes to eyes, so close, as if they both wanted to merge into one. As it brought the feeling of whirlpool being born just under their feet, dragging them to the depths.

‘Yes, I used it that you were a man,’ Catherine agreed in a barely audible whisper, her fingers gripping the stiff fabric on the sleeves of his uniform. ‘But that's what you wanted. And you'd be disappointed if I didn't leave the ship today or didn’t even think about searching through your papers. You like to think that you can make me surrender, don't you...?’

She didn't finish. She silenced as his hot, dry lips pressed against her mouth, and answered with equal greed. As he was not an old man who wanted to pay for his help. As he was not a good-natured neighbor who was just saving her honor. As he was _hers_. Equal. The one with whom she was not ashamed or grateful. With whom she didn’t not pretend to be passionate, or, on the contrary, to stifle every unwilled moan, because a decent woman should be modest and even shy. Even if someone heard her... She bit all her lips trying only not to cast a shadow of indecency over him. And she bit her knuckles as he went down between her legs and his lips and tongue touched her so softly and yet so intensely that she felt like she burned at the stake.

‘James… please…’ She gasped helplessly and only begged him not to stop, stroking his hair as he caressed her. She was already on the edge when he kissed her so passionately, almost leaving marks of his fingers on her thighs, that she burst into tears as her whole body shivered in relief.

‘James…’

‘You’re drowning me,’ he whispered as his lips touched her neck, his fingers drew lines on her burning skin, and she arched under him feeling him moving almost gently inside her. ‘I… I can’t breathe when I think of you. And I do think of you every moment I am awake. And even if I am not, I dream of you, as you haunt me even in my sleep. Oh, Catherine, please…’

‘I love you,’ she moaned as he was shuddering, pressing his forehead to her shoulder and gasping in a hopeless attempt to regain his breath. And she could feel him looking at her when she finally leaned back on the pillow, with her eyes closed and her breath coming in pitiful gasps.

As she was _his._

After that she didn't want to talk or even think, but murmured in a tired, husky voice, pressing her cheek against his hot, wet chest.

‘But still... what is the reason?’

_Why fight for something that can't even have a future?_

‘Because you fired that shot.’


	9. IX

The glows from the candle-end in the lamp danced on the bronze legs of the caliper, sometimes merging into one another — flowing into each other as if the metal was drenched in oil instead of light — then breaking up again into separate sparks. Moving in one motion with the ship’s calm pitching. James stared at the play of light for so long that he could have drawn its every ripple if he had wanted to. He stared and thought, absently running his fingers over the smooth metal.

_‘Captain, sir, I don't consider it being that necessary...’_

The maps spread out on the table were useless at the very moment. _The Dauntless_ was barely rocking on the gentle waves, and her sails were limp in the dead calm. The sea outside the narrow window was so calm — unruffled almost like a mirror, — that it clearly reflected not only the moon rising above the horizon, but also bright stars high in the coal-black sky. And it made him feel uneasy. The calm before the storm, no doubt. Before a destructive hurricane that breaks the ship's masts like thin dry twigs.

_‘Are we truly going to leave the lady to her fate? Her husband is a friend of the Governor of Jamaica.’_

Hollow words. Henri Delannois was the last person on his mind. But what would Monsieur say if he knew how often his wife spent her nights in another man’s cabin? Every night, to be honest.

_‘What a wretch you are, Lieutenant.’_

_Am I? I’m not the one who thrown her in a life of theft and sea battles. Or is it no longer a sin to steal and kill, if it is for the sake of France? Leave the blood and gunpowder to the men, Monsieur, a woman should be protected from this filth. Even if she doesn't think so._

The ship was creaking softly in the stillness of the night, and the waves were lapping around her with a soothing sound. As if the sea itself was singing a barely audible song.

_‘I fell in love with you...’_

_Why, if I may ask? You could have found someone a hundred times more... Someone more. Someone who could have avoided so obvious mistakes. Who would’ve known what to do now._

The door opened with a long creak, and Catherine slipped inside, instantly slamming it again and pressing her back against it. Her sudden movement caused her loose hair to fall from her shoulders to her chest in the half-unbuttoned dark waistcoat. It was foolish to even think of seeing her in a dress — she would probably laugh at a him as he only knew how to unlace a corset and had no idea what it was like to wear it all day long, — but sometimes he wished she had… a less distracting appearance. Because a woman in a long coat attracted much more attention than a woman in a dress.

‘Do you feel better?’

‘No,’ Catherine said in a tired voice, and closed her eyes in confirmation of her words, leaning her head back against the door. ‘But I can’t lay flat for the next few months. We... need to talk.’

‘Seasickness can be very tricky,’ James disagreed, and her lips twitched in a strange grimace that seemed both sad and happy at the same time. A very _strange_ grimace.

‘James,’ Catherine said softly, straightening up and taking a couple of steps forward. ‘I've never been seasick.’

But... What was it, then, if in the last few days she had been feeling sick almost incessantly, and had rushed to the gunwale after almost every attempt to eat something?

‘What do you mean?’ James asked cautiously, turning on his chair, and the bewildered expression on his face made her smile faintly.

‘I'm with child,’ Catherine said, being surprisingly calm, and took another step. And then she raised her hand and pressed her fingers to his lips as soon as he opened his mouth, not truly knowing what he wanted to answer. ‘I'm not asking for anything. I have a husband, and whether he likes it or not, he will accept my child as his own. But I would like to... I _want_ this child to know his father.’

_A child? It can't be! Or... Dear Lord, but how...?_

‘No... No, wait…’ His thoughts became obscured by shock, as if he was completely drunk, and when he jerked to his feet, grabbing her in his arms, he didn't know if it was the whole ship rocking or just him. ‘You... We can...’

‘We can't,’ Catherine said still quietly but firmly, cutting him off and ignoring his attempts to ... do what? ‘If you're going to ask me to get a divorce, then it’s no use. No, James,’ she repeated in unfaltering voice, as a silent question reflected on his face. ‘ _Why? If you say you love me?’_

‘I can learn from my mistakes,’ Catherine continued, lowering her eyes and softly pressing her forehead to his cheek. ‘One hasty marriage was enough for me, and I'm not going to use this child against you. I want him to know you, but I don't want you to give up everything you love and need because of a couple of nights. Sooner or later you’ll start blaming it on me, if you do. And we both know who I am. I'm already too deep in this swamp. No one will let me just drop everything and marry an officer of the English Royal Navy. And you won't resign your commission. Don’t even think of it, I'm not worth such a sacrifice.’

‘But... We could... If _you_ want... to resign...’ That was not the right word, but it was the only one he had right now. And what was the point of focusing on the words, if they both understood the very essence? She only needed to nod if she wanted him to fight for her.

‘Don’t even think of it,’ Catherine repeated and raised her hand, stroking his cheek tenderly. ‘You've already given me a reason to drop out of this game. At least for a couple of years, and I…’ She broke off and rose on her toes, pressing her lips to his. ‘I'm... grateful,’ Catherine murmured between kisses, breathing unevenly and clutching the thin fabric of his shirt. ‘That it’s you, not some…’ She broke off again and buried her face clumsily in his neck, as if she was trying to hide in that embrace from the rest of the world.

‘But... Your husband...’

‘And what's that?’ Catherine laughed sadly, tickling his skin with her uneven breaths. ‘Will you two fight on a duel? Oh, I'm sure you'll do everything to lose, since he is the insulted one, but... it won't change anything. Henri can live with it, believe me, and I…’ She broke off once again and took a deep breath before continuing. ‘I'll get off _The Dauntless_ at the first port she makes, as I promised. Before my… condition will become too obvious.’

‘Catherine...’

What to say? What to do to make her...?

Catherine looked at his face and smiled.

‘No, James. I'll deal with it myself. But until then... I'll stay with you if you want me to.’

***

The path slithered between the trees like a huge brown-scaled serpent, twisting in dozens of coils. Catherine never liked the alley that led to the house — it was too wide, too often devoid of even a semblance of shade — and she took her usual shortcut through the orchard growing around the house. She knew that she would remain unnoticed until the very last moment, and sometimes used it to joke a girl with a thin dark braid, playing on the wide veranda under the oversight of an old man sitting in his favorite chair.

‘What's new, Lolo?’

Charlotte tossed her head, as she dropped her favorite rag doll, and in a flash she was off the porch, wrapping her small, thin arms around Catherine.

‘Catiche! Did you bring anything for me?!’

‘How shameful, Mademoiselle!’ Henri laughed as he slowly rose to his feet, and Catherine twitched the corner of her mouth in agreement. Then she opened the leather bag slung over her shoulder and pulled out a small bundle laying at the top.

‘Of course I did, my little chirper. But firstly, take this to Georgette, or she'll start complaining again about what a selfish older sister I am.’

‘All right,’ Charlotte grumbled, expecting to be the first one to receive a gift, and ran up the steps, disappearing in the house. Catherine stepped out onto the porch and shivered as a gust of wind came from behind her. Or it was the sharp observant gaze her husband gave her that made her feel vulnerable for a moment.

‘I'm with child,’ she answered the unspoken question, putting her hand on her belly, which was already visible under the half-unbuttoned waistcoat. It seemed to be foolish to hide it, even if it was not yet obvious to everyone around her. As it was already to those who were her family.

‘I suppose I shouldn't ask who his father is’ Henri spoke again in a flat, expressionless tone, and Catherine had to force herself not to close her eyes as the image of a sunlit face with sparkling green eyes — that seemed to have absorbed all the shades of the sea wave — appeared in her mind’s eye.

‘You shouldn't,’ Catherine agreed in the same calm voice. ‘Not yet. I won't lie to a child.’

‘But you expect me to give him my last name, though, don't you?’

‘Do you have a choice?’

‘You're right,’ her husband sighed. ‘I don't have a choice.’

And then he smiled, lifting the left side of his mouth.

‘Have you chosen a name?’

‘It's a little early for a name,’ Catherine said, and turned her head to look at the distant bay, still clearly visible from the hill. ‘But if it's a boy...’

Jean-Marin. After Saint John the Baptist. And after the sea to which this child owes his life.

After his father, a sailor.


End file.
